


an unexpected picnic

by eehms



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: A Banana - Freeform, Also Alfie bullying Ollie, M/M, Me bullying Ollie, Tommy Shelby being extremely Chill and Subtle, and Tommy bullying Ollie, crackfic????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24887734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eehms/pseuds/eehms
Summary: Tommy brings Alfie lunch. Alfie eats a sandwich. Tommy eats a banana.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 3
Kudos: 95





	an unexpected picnic

**Author's Note:**

> do you like nonsense? pointless background detail? a banana being used as a tool of seduction? this is the fic for you!
> 
> this fic is not worth your time and should have been 2k but i finished it and here it is. SRRY for writing one-shots when there are Other fics i should be writing but i said to myself "hey? what if tommy was a thot and there was also a banana involved?" and here i am. theres not even any sex in this (crowd boos) but plenty of references 2 it!

The door to Alfie’s office swings open.

He doesn’t need to look up to know who it is, knows that there’s only one person who would just walk in without knocking, or without any other attempt at common courtesy. He looks up anyways, because he’s got eyes, right, and if Tommy’s going to just burst in like he owns the place, he’s going to take a look at his pretty fucking face.

As he predicted, it’s Tommy, who is staring back at him with what Alfie can only describe as a mischievous expression. He doesn’t know what it is about the man, but there’s just something to his face-- from the sharp cut of his cheekbones, to the gentle slope of his nose, down to the curve of his jaw and the pinch of his lips, but he just does not seem the type to have a _mischievous_ bone in his body. Alfie had mischief. He had mischief pouring out of his fucking ears, but as far as he’s aware, there’s no way to transfer that sort of thing between two people, even if Alfie certainly was pressing another type of bone inside the other man’s body on the regular. 

But lo and behold, here comes Tommy fucking Shelby, unnannounced, into his office, with a little fucking smirk. Alfie’s seen the smirk before, of course, but it generally preceded either untold miseries unto Tommy’s enemies, or a rather enthusiastic and dirty fuck. Alfie’d seen that smirk while the man was riding his dick so vigorously the night before that Alfie had sworn he’d ascended up, out of his body, and had spent the next half hour watching from somewhere up on the ceiling, swapping gossip with angels who’d congratulated him on his good fucking fortune. 

So he’s a right to feel somewhat suspicious when Tommy’s marched on in here, with his pretty fucking face, and his mischievous fucking smile. Alfie’d left him back at his house for a reason, had kissed his sleep-warm shoulders and mouthed down his spine before he’d departed that morning to fix some inane problems that had arisen on a day he should rightfully have off. He didn’t generally keep schedule, working all hours of the night and any day of the week, but this particular weekend, Tommy was in town. Tommy was here, in London, and he had no other fucking responsibilities, no one calling for him on Alfie’s telephone when he had Tommy slammed against his kitchen table, or on his back in his bed. Tommy had cleared the fucking weekend for him, and it was really quite rude of Alfie to have employed a staff so incompetant that he had to peel himself off of Tommy’s back at the break of fucking dawn on a Saturday morning to come in here and solve their goddamn problems. He’d told them, he had, on his way out the night previous, had barked at Ollie, and at Eli, and at every man who’d fucking listen to him, to not, under any circumstance, contact him at any point that weekend. But yet, life went on, business got fucked, and under-performing employees had their knees broken. Another Saturday in Camden Town. 

Ollie, who’d been hovering over Alfie’s shoulder, examining the papers that Alfie was already examining, jolts up at Tommy’s abrupt arrival. “Mr. Shelby!” The lad looks like he’s trying to figure out exactly what to say, wringing his hands together nervously. “You’re not meant to just--”

Tommy raises his eyebrows at the boy, hands dug deeply into his pockets in a stance that is somehow cruelly casual, as if he doesn’t care, and he wants you to know it. Alfie does notice that he had set a small bag down on his end of the desk before he’d adopted his position. “Was just in the neighborhood, Ollie, and in the spirit of fostering a positive relationship with my business partner there, I thought that he might enjoy it if I brought him some lunch.” He gestures to the bag with his chin. 

“Lunch?” Alfie asks, peering over his half moon glasses, still suspicious, but now also a bit amused.

“Lunch.” Tommy nods his head, eyes flickering over to him now, away from the still bewildered Ollie. Alfie knew that the lad wasn’t a complete idiot-- he had to know that he and Tommy were in at least some sort of non-professional relationship. Ollie hadn’t ever quite caught them in the act, but he’d been around to witness everything but. He’d walked into the two of them springing apart, to Alfie using every excuse in order to touch Tommy as he escorted him to his office, or showed him some documents, whatever worked. One particular evening, Ollie had stayed late without Alfie knowing, and they’d run into the boy on their way out of the building. Alfie had just finished fucking Tommy against a wall, Alfie coaxing loud moans out of the other man in what he thought was his empty fucking warehouse. They were both red faced and eager to get back to Alfie’s place, hadn’t been very careful with their cleanup. Alfie might have been able to get away with it, ended up winded and ruffled fairly regularly in the course of his violent business dealings, but Tommy certainly couldn’t; “I just got fucked within an inch of my life and now I’m off to do it again, but this time in a very comfortable bed” practically oozed out of him. There were lovebites high up on his neck, collar gone in their rush, a wet spot on the front of his shirt, and he walked with a very noticeable limp.

Ollie had been sitting at his desk, looking absolutely mortified as the two of them came into view-- Alfie murmuring something low and sweet into Tommy’s ear, chin tucked into his neck as they moved as best they could with Alfie’s hands gripping both of his hips, pulling his arse back into him. They’d frozen to a halt at the sight of Ollie, Alfie dropping his hands immediately, but he also wasn’t a fucking idiot. There wasn’t an explanation for this, nor did Ollie (his subordinate, and thus, one who must do his bidding under threat of firing and/or pain) deserve an explanation, so he just leveled the boy with his best glare. Tommy, ever cool under pressure, had simply walked out, not even sparing a passing glance. His ears, however, once Alfie had joined him outside of the bakery, had been tinged a bit pink. 

Regardless, Ollie knew _of_ them, and because of that, he’d been introduced to an entirely new challenge to his job: the handling of Tommy Shelby. Tommy did whatever the fuck he wanted, whenever the fuck he wanted to do it. It was really quite irritating, despite how charming Alfie occasionally found it. And him finding it charming was precisely why Ollie had such a hard time mediating things. Tommy would march in, and he’d be rude and unreasonable, and sometimes Alfie would sit back and smile like he was endeared, and sometimes Alfie would furrow his eyebrows and shout about Ollie not keeping his business safe from intruders. Ollie could take a good verbal battering, and he’d learnt to just sit back and wait for direct instruction when it came to Mr. Shelby.

“Hm,” Alfie takes off his glasses, letting them fall down on their chain and hit his chest. He gestures towards the papers he’s going over. “I’m really quite busy, aren’t I, Ollie?”

“You are, Alfie.” Ollie agrees quickly, taking a step around the desk, as if to shoo Tommy out. The image alone is laughable-- as if Tommy would ever let himself be ushered.

“I’m sure _Mr. Solomons_ knows how to multitask, Ollie. He can eat and read at the same time. Don’t mind me.” Tommy steps out of reach of Ollie’s hands, seating himself in the chair by his desk. The way he says his full name is a bit mocking, refusing now to acknowledge that Ollie’s even standing there. Alfie starts to grin. The Birmingham man always starts to get a bit cagey when other men start acting too familiar.

(His jealousy never failed to make Alfie’s trousers start to get a bit tight, like the time the two of them had been out at a dark pub, something fancy, at Tommy’s insistence, of course. They’d run into some cunt named Copeland, some nobody out of Brighton, who nobody would take seriously, primarily because he was out of Brighton. They had a very lovely pier, right, but when Alfie was looking for men to look out for an investment, or to maybe beat someone to death, he wasn’t going to call up some _Brighton boys._ But Copeland was a persistent fellow, could never take no for an answer, and from what Alfie’d heard, he’d come into quite a bit of cash a few years previously, and he had used it to purchase himself some influence. He ran in quite posh circles these days, and when they’d run into him, he was accompanied by some old bastard with an accent that Alfie couldn’t remember the name of but was nonetheless absolutely dripping with wealth. Copeland had walked up simpering to Alfie, brushing at his shoulders, then introduced himself to Tommy, talking about setting up a meeting and how they could help each other, he had _connections_ , after all. 

Copeland had gestured at the doddering old fool he was leading about like some blind and deaf mutt, who had to have been a member of some foreign royal family, but Tommy hadn’t been moved. This was exactly the kind of spineless clawing at the upper class that Alfie had assumed he’d fucking love, that he’d jump at the chance to foster a connection with royalty, but Tommy had just sucked at his cigarette, regarding the two men with a fair degree of contempt.

“Well?” Copeland had asked, insecurity beginning to cloud his expression. “Are we in business?”

Tommy had stared at him, icy eyes chilling the entirety of the room. “ _No.”_

No! Alfie had been delighted, had grinned across the table as Copeland gathered up what remained of his pride and stalked away, shoulders shuddering as Alfie began laughing in earnest. Tommy’s refusal had left no room for interpretation, had been a clear and immovable denial. The old man went with him, giving Tommy a withering scowl, one that seemed to slide right down the clean lines of his suit, down to the floor, never to be thought of again. 

“What, you didn’t want to befriend a Scandanavian Prince, you daft thing?” Alfie had asked between his laughter, leaning in as far as he dared to in the round booth. Their shoulders bumped together, and Tommy had taken a long sip of his whiskey. 

“Didn’t like the way that Copeland looked at you,” he replied, airily, staring off at the side of the room. He looked as if he were going for casual, but his jaw was clenched tight, betraying his genuine irritation with how Copeland had drawn his hand down Alfie’s arms in their greeting.

Alfie had laughed some more, had nudged his thigh up against Tommy’s, and paid their bill. He’d then brought Tommy back to his place, and demonstrated that Tommy had nothing to worry about when it came to other men. He really didn’t, either, it was a very truthful fuck-- at some point during the last few months, Alfie had stopped being able to picture himself with anyone but this beautiful man that he’d managed to talk into bed. When he closed his eyes at night, all he saw was crystal blue eyes, sharp and dangerous, and other such romantic nonsense. They hadn’t said anything about it, but they both know it was a feeling that was more or less mutual.)

“Besides,” says current Tommy, still sitting petulantly in his chair, rousing Alfie from his thoughts. He fixes Alfie with an only slightly threatening look. “Mr. Solomons, knowing the trouble that I had to go through in order to bring him this picnic, would never deny my generosity.”

Alfie snorts. “I never would, would I?” He rolls his eyes, gesturing for Ollie to come back to his side of the table, to stop hovering awkwardly behind his guest, as if he could simply fret at the man and he’d disappear. “Alright, let's see this picnic then. Have you brought something for yourself as well?”

Tommy smiles thinly, but it’s the one that suggests that he’s pleased. “I have.”

“That’s fucking splendid, it is.” Alfie nods, turning away from Tommy to address Ollie, just because he knows it’ll annoy his lover. “Never fucking eats, this one. Have to practically force it down his throat, or else he’ll just peck and tease at it all night.” Ollie blushes a deep red, averting his eyes. Alfie hears a quick exhale of breath from Tommy, which is generally the closest thing he can expect of a laugh from the man. He turns back to him, nodding at the bag still on the table. “Well, let’s have it, then. I’m a busy man.”

“Oh, I am very aware. A very busy man, you are.” Tommy takes a moment to inhale, or to add a bit of tension to the room, the dramatic cunt. “Though, that might not always be a good thing, Mr. Solomons. If you’re too busy, you might find that you’re not taking the proper time to attend to the important things in life.” Tommy stands again, picking up his bag, reaching a hand inside. He pulls out a small package, wrapped in wax paper. Alfie knows immediately that there is a sandwich inside, and he also knows that Tommy’s bought it from some deli, which makes more sense. He’d briefly envisioned him poking around his kitchen at home, trying to figure out how to boil water, or puzzling over the purposes of his basic utensils.

Alfie darts his hand out, snatching the sandwich out of Tommy’s hand unceremoniously. He screws his face up, as if deep in thought. “Funny, thought I’d already taken care of things, nice and proper. Attendance at this moment didn’t seem strictly necessary, right, not when I’d be on my way home soon enough, to continue giving my important things a good seeing to.” At his side, Ollie turns his face up towards the ceiling, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. 

“Things like that could always use more attention.” Tommy tilts his head slightly to the side at that, artificial sweetness dripping off of him as he seats himself again. “But go ahead, return to your business. I’m perfectly happy to wait.”

Alfie nods, and he’s still a bit suspicious as to Tommy’s motivations, but he really does have to get these papers sorted out before he can leave. If he doesn’t, there will be a few people very unhappy with him come Monday. He unwraps his sandwich, examines what appears to be a perfectly serviceable chicken on rye, and tucks in. “And where’s yours?”

Tommy waves a hand in the air, reaching into his jacket pocket with his other, and Alfie knows he’s retrieving his cigarettes. “Go ahead, want a smoke first.”

And so he does go ahead, doesn’t see any reason to delay his work any longer. He gets Ollie to pour them a bit of whiskey to wash the food down, and Tommy just sits there with his cigarette as Alfie gets to work. He has to admit that the sandwich is good, and that he’s quietly rather pleased that Tommy would take the time out of his day to bring him something to eat. It’s the kind of innocently domestic gesture that he hadn’t quite expected from their relationship. Not that he’d ever in a million years admit to that. If Tommy asks, he’d tell him that he’s a nuisance that he only keeps around for his exceptional arse. 

It’s only when Tommy’s stubbing out his cigarette and reaching back into his bag that Alfie’s suspicions of mischief are officially confirmed. Because it’s not another wax-wrapped sandwich that Tommy pulls out of the bag, no. Instead, he pulls out a single, bright yellow banana.

Alfie and Ollie notice almost simultaneously, and come to the same conclusion as to Tommy’s motivations. Ollie looks as if he’d quite like to leap face first out one of the glass windows in Alfie’s office. Alfie, however, is deeply interested, despite the fact that it’s clear as day that Tommy’s doing this to mess with him. It’s probably a punishment for leaving him alone that morning, Catholics do love their fucking guilt, don’t they? 

“What have you got there, Tommy?” Alfie asks, keeping his voice as light as he can manage it. He’d been about to cross something out in the fine print of this contract, about to pick up the phone and shout at someone, right, because people can’t even properly write a contract to acquire someone’s business correctly, and they’ve done these a thousand times before. He remembers when he’d presented Tommy with one, all those years ago, when Tommy had threatened to blow them all sky fucking high. Young love. He’d wanted to launch himself across his desk when Tommy had held up that grenade pin, but thought the timing might be a bit shit, what with a potentially rigged barrel out there, Alfie putting his brother in jail, and Ollie being glued to his fucking hip, take your pick. And Alfie could be right fucking romantic when it came down to it. He knew not to proposition beautiful gangsters fresh after sending their family members to the clink. Tommy was perfectly capable of having them sent there himself, thank you very much.

Tommy arches an imperial eyebrow, a mask slipped over his face, obscuring the edge of teasing that had been present there before. “It’s a banana.” He says, simply, as if he were speaking to a child. 

“It’s a banana.” Alfie repeats, rolling his eyes at Ollie, as if to say, _can you believe this man?_ Ollie studiously avoids making eye contact, still looks as if he’d rather be anywhere on the planet but there. “Right, well you enjoy it, treacle. Just going to make a few calls.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

Alfie huffs, but pointedly averts his eyes as he picks up the phone to make his call. He doesn’t like discussing business matters in front of Tommy, would generally insist on the man waiting outside his office for the duration of a phone call like this, but he finds himself inexplicably flustered. Tommy’s in his peripheral vision the whole time, unless he wants to turn around fully in his chair, like some little boy who couldn’t handle a bit of a distraction. And he might not be looking at the other man, but Tommy is certainly looking at him. He can feel Tommy analyzing his every movement with those big fucking owl eyes, and Alfie feels a brief flush of insecurity as he ensures that his hands don’t shake as he grips the phone a bit too tight. 

He looks out one of the windows of his office, towards one that opens up to a hallway overlooking the bakery at large. It’s a heavily trafficked area, men scurrying this way and that as they try and avoid making their bosses’ wrath even worse. He tries to study the quick movement of his workers as he waits for his contact to answer the phone, but he can’t help himself from noticing Tommy’s movements across the desk from him.

Tommy’s pulled the peel about three quarters of the way down the fruit, and is currently examining it with greater interest than one might expect to look at a banana. He picks gently at some of the stringy bits, the phloem bundles, fingers grazing down the length. A totally and completely unnecessary motion, one might think, but there he is. Alfie shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Hullo?” 

The voice on the other end of the line temporarily surprises him, because the man speaks just as Tommy’s bringing his lunch up to his mouth. Alfie squeezes his eyes shut briefly, then begins talking into the phone, running on autopilot as he avoids looking at what Tommy’s doing while simultaneously looking at what Tommy’s doing. What’s he doing? Sniffing it? Do people generally sniff a banana before eating it? Perhaps they must, Alfie can’t think of any other reason why the man would just have the tip of the fucking fruit hovering in front of his mouth, lips slightly parted. Alfie has to remind himself that this is Tommy Shelby, and he’s doing this on purpose, that he’s a bastard with no moral character whatsoever, and that he’s Alfie _fucking_ Solomons, right? He’s not going to have his feathers fucking ruffled by such cheap tactics. He huffs a bit in his seat, straightening his posture a bit, as if to announce that very fact to the rest of the room. He gets back to his phone call.

… But Tommy’s got _really_ pretty lips, right? Soft and plump, pink like he’s applied a bit of lipstick. Lovely like a lady, he is. And Tommy’s actually taken a bite now, has sunk his teeth into the pale flesh of the fruit, lips closing around it. There is something slightly disturbing to the image, something to do with sharp teeth and the head of his own cock. Tommy’s never been anything but courteous with his mouth, an accomplished expert in the art of fellatio, but Alfie certainly has felt those teeth on other parts of his anatomy. Tommy’s gentle with his cock, but ravenous everywhere else; biting and pinching and bruising without any regard for Alfie’s delicate constitution. And sure, Alfie might have left his fair share of marks on the other man as well. One might argue even more than Tommy’s left on him. That’s besides the point. He can’t help the fact that Tommy is a fucking masochist, alright? Not relevant in the slightest.

Tommy chews peacefully, the end of the banana still held directly in front of his mouth. The man nods to himself, as if he’s carrying on a conversation in his head. Alfie asks the man on the phone to repeat himself, hadn’t heard whatever he’s just said. He can’t help it. His head is usually a scattered, fragmented mess, but it’s even worse than usual, because now he’s got to actively work at keeping himself contained. Tommy looks good, is wearing those stupid fucking glasses, the same suit he’d been wearing the day previous when he’d first shown up on Alfie’s doorstep. Alfie had tugged him in through his front door, and had tossed him onto the nearest cushioned surface, had practically ripped him out of that suit. It’s only due to the mystical power of Tommy’s inherent narcissism that the suit hugging his body isn’t creased or wrinkled in the slightest, despite spending the night crumpled up on the floor. His tie, however, a garish patterned maroon, is definitely from Alfie’s own collection. He’s never worn it before, had received it as a gift from some nobody trying to buy his favour (through ugly accessories? Greater English society was occasionally incomprehensible to Alfie), and had chucked it into a drawer to presumably never be seen again. Not until Tommy’s fucking pilfered through his posessions, apparently. He’d have to have a disciplinary word with him about thieving later on, hopefully with Tommy bent naked over his knee. 

He sighs, when he realizes he still hasn’t the slightest idea what the man on the phone has just said to him. Across the desk, Tommy’s studying the banana again, hints of a pink tongue slipping out for no other reason but to torment him. 

“Hang on,” Alfie grunts, leaning away from the mouthpiece. “You enjoying yourself over there, mate?”

Tommy looks up, eyes wide, as if startled. Tommy _knows_ that Alfie likes him looking like that, the ice in his eyes melting into something close to innocent. Tommy can’t really pull it off; there’s too much blood on his hands for Alfie to ever forget, but doesn’t stop him from looking like a wet dream as he bats his eyelashes. Alfie’d never want him actually innocent like that, anyway. “I am. Are you enjoying your call?”

Alfie scowls at him, as spectacularly as he can manage. “I’m not.” He raises his eyebrows, trying to put his point across. His point being, stop acting like a brat.

Tommy’s lips purse, amused. “That’s a shame.” His eyes flicker between him and Ollie for a moment, before settling back on him. He leans forward in his seat a bit. “Think I might be able to help with your enjoyment.” With no further ado, Tommy unhinges his jaw and stops pretending that he’s here to eat a light lunch with his business partner. He’s already taken a bite, right, but there’s still quite a bit of length of the banana left when he slides it slowly down to the back of his throat, tongue hanging flat and wanton.

Alfie forgets how to breathe. Ollie, still wringing his hands together, makes a strange, choking noise, eyes open comically wide. Tommy only keeps the banana there for a few seconds, cognizant of the danger of dangling something that likely to break so close to the back of his throat in case he actually chokes, but he looks smug beyond belief.

“For fuck’s sake.” Alfie manages to swear. He turns back to the phone, barks, “I’ll call you back,” and then hangs up. Tommy reclines in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face, just surveying the effect he’s had. “You happy, then?”

“I am.” Tommy agrees, still holding the fruit in his right hand, resting his arm on his thigh. The tip of the banana looks slick and slightly crushed by the inside of his throat. Alfie is three seconds away from leaping across the desk doing something very mean that Tommy will enjoy regardless.

“I, uh,” Ollie stutters at his side, reminding Alfie of his presence. His vision goes momentarily red, and he pushes his chair back with an unpleasant screech, rising to his feet. It’s not the lad’s fucking fault, right, but there’s something very primal inside of him reacting to this, to the thought of Ollie, _fucking Ollie_ , seeing Tommy behave like this. To _Ollie_ seeing this type of display, to see Tommy being a perfect little tease, acting how only Alfie’s allowed to see him. Tommy is _his_ , end of fucking story. Ollie’s just lucky he’s occasionally useful, that Alfie actually does need him around, because he thinks he might have killed any other man who’d seen Tommy gagging on something like that.

As it is, he just grabs Ollie by his collar, shoving him roughly towards the door. Ollie stumbles a bit, but keeps his balance, scrambling away just as quickly as he’s been pushed. But once he’s in the doorway, he makes the rather unfortunate mistake of taking a quick glance back, a glance at _Tommy,_ a look halfway between terrified and fascinated.

“Shut the fucking door!” Alfie roars, spittle flying across the room as he slams his fist on the top of his desk. Everything in the room rattles and shakes in the wake of his rage, everything save for Tommy, who takes another bite of the banana. He looks remarkably at ease, hasn’t even acknowledged Ollie being forcibly ejected from the room. It’s rather fortunate for Ollie, because he thinks that if Tommy had looked back at him, Alfie would have fucking killed Ollie after all. 

Shutting the door obediently behind him, Ollie frantically leaves the two of them alone. Alfie’s shouting has caused most other employees to scatter as well, the hallway around his office now empty. The blinds are wide fucking open, though, and despite Tommy being a little fucking tart right in front of one of his employees, Alfie’s still not willing to expose themselves completely. And he’s going to do this properly, right? He’ll not settle for a quick dirty fuck in his office, his employees scurrying around below them, not when he’s really going to make Tommy pay for this. No, he’s going to take Tommy home.

Alfie pulls on his overcoat, no space in his head for anything but Tommy. He’ll be miserable about not finishing his work come Monday, but he’ll just have to fucking deal with it, won’t he. Tommy smiles languidly at him, still seated. “Are we leaving?”

He doesn’t bother with a verbal response, just crosses around to the other side of the desk. He grips the back of Tommy’s neck, fingers clenched tightly, pulling him to his feet. His grip is possessive as he guides him out the door. He’ll bring him down the stairs, out the building, and he’ll shove him into the passenger side of Alfie’s car. He’ll drive them back to Alfie’s house, where they have one more night together until Tommy has to return to Birmingham, and the rest of his life.

No one dares stare at them as they walk through the bakery. They’ve made themselves scarce. No one fancies another kneecapping, on what should have been their quiet Saturday.

“Is this how you treat everyone who brings you lunch?” Tommy breathes, not making any attempt to withdraw from Alfie’s touch, is leaning into it. Alfie’s can feel goosebumps on the back of his neck, a shiver running down his spine at being led. Alfie squeezes, and Tommy shudders through a soft gasp.

“No,” Alfie leans in closer, lips ghosting over the shell of Tommy’s ear. They’re turning a corner, knows that no one is close enough to see, so he smooths his other hand over Tommy’s magnificent rear. “Just the pretty ones who’re asking for a fuck, yeah?”

“Don’t recall asking for anything.” Tommy’s quick, always quick with a response, to act as if he hadn’t just done something like shove a fruit down his throat for the attention.

“Tommy, darling?”

“Yes, Alfie?”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Tommy laughs at that, because he’s a strange and beautiful little man, with his soft hair and his pink lips and perfect arse. He pushes into Alfie’s violent hands, and laughs when any other man might have whimpered. Alfie wants to break him, wants him ruined, but he adores him so much he can’t fucking stand it. 

“I’ll remember you told me to do that later on, shall I?” They exit the building, and Tommy carelessly tosses the banana, half-eaten, into the dirty street. It’s served its purpose, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> srry if it ends abruptly but i am bad at writing Sexual Activity. another one-shot comin ASAP, then will hopefully have longer chapter of MoL!!!!!!!! ty for readin this stupid fic


End file.
